


A Perfect Pair

by bottledspirits



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledspirits/pseuds/bottledspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold reluctantly takes on new staff for his shop after his son, Bailey, leaves an opening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Pair

**Author's Note:**

> Kitty wanted a Rumbelle fic set in a haberdashery.

The proprietor of R&B Haberdashery, one Mr. Robert Gold, was not in the habit of befriending his customers. Nor did he form strong attachments to his neighbors. He was considered fair in his business practices, but rather cold. Those who knew him best described him as aloof. It spoke a great deal of his dealings with others that this was the best that they could say of him.

He had not always been so. Before the war descended on the country, calling up all the able-bodied young men to leave their homes and livelihoods to fight overseas, Gold had been a quiet, careful man, running the store with his teenage son. Bailey was a cheerful, outgoing lad who lived to help his customers. He had a broad grin and a low, gentle voice that served him well in his profession.

Even his father had been unable to resist the boy. He hardly spoiled his son, but it was seldom that he denied him his heart’s desire. So when Bailey had asked if he could leave the shop to join the war effort, Gold had been torn in two.

On the one hand, the look on the boy’s face when he spoke of the matter to his father was a mixture of hope and apprehension. He truly believed he would be fighting for his country.

Yet the thought of losing his only son was so hard to bear that Gold had, in a rare display of rage, told the boy in no uncertain terms that he would not be allowed to turn solider.

Bailey had been heartbroken after that. The atmosphere in the shop became quiet and somber. It was as if the boy’s disappointment had permeated every shelf and fixture until the whole place felt more like a tomb than a place of business.

Then the draft came, and the choice was taken from their hands. Bailey tried not to look too enthusiastic about the call, knowing how his father felt on the matter, but the difference in his demeanor was clear to all. Seeing it, his father had been unable to bring the matter up before his son. Where he had once criticized the government for their decisions – for the war, the rationing, and the draft itself – he was now silent.

People thought him callous to never so much as mention the war after his son had been called to fight. No one ever saw their exchange the night before Bailey left for the front. He had found the boy in the stock room, looking over the shelves that housed the wares to be sold.

When Gold came in, Bailey turned around, a smile on his face, as if he meant to say something witty. Upon seeing his father’s expression, however, the smile faded and the boy was left standing in such a way that he seemed smaller than he had in years.

“I will miss the place,” Bailey said. “I don’t want you to think that–”

Gold raised a hand to stop him.

“You don’t need to tell me, son,” the older man said. He stared at the floor as he spoke, feeling awkward. This was when he was supposed to offer advice to his son before he sent him off to battle. But who was he to try to talk to this brave young man who stood before him? If he could only have a drop of the boy’s courage, he could probably conquer the world.

Instead, Gold reached into his jacket.

“I want you to look after something for me,” Gold began. He was careful not to look at his son as he took a silver cigarette case from his pocket and held it out to the boy.

Bailey took the case in some confusion. He turned it over in his hands, as careful as if it was made of glass. The case was a fine thing, solid and well-made with the kind of delicate details that his father preferred. Gold had owned the case long before his son was born, and he had treated it with such care that even Bailey regarded it with a kind of reverence.

He looked up at his father, his bewilderment clear on his face.

“But what about you?” the boy asked. “You can’t go an hour without a smoke. I’ve seen you; you’re a wreck without them.”

Gold closed his eyes and waved his hand again.

“I’m giving them up. The damn things have gotten too bloody expensive, what with all this rationing. Besides, I thought you hated my smoking?”

The older man glanced up then. There was a tentative look in his eye, a kind of wavering hope and encouraging warmth all in one.

Bailey watched his father for a moment, holding the case in both hands before crossing the room and throwing his arms around the man, a muffled cry of “Papa!” getting lost in Gold’s shoulder. It was awkward, seeing he was now taller than his father, but it made no difference to him.

Gold reached up and put his arms around his son’s back. They stood that way for some time, neither saying a word. Finally, Gold disentangled himself and stepped back, clearing his throat and fixing his gaze on the floor while his eyes shone in the low light of the room.

“All right now,” he said gruffly. “You’re not the first boy to be sent off to war, and you won’t be the last, you hear me? You won’t be the last.”

His voice broke on the last words, and there was such a pleading tone in his voice that he could not bring himself to raise his eyes to his son.

But Bailey only said, “Yes, Papa.”

Gold had seen his son off the next day. He stood silently on the platform as Bailey boarded the train with the other soldiers. While everyone around him waved and called out to the boys on the train, Gold stared steadfastly at the train until his son appeared at one of the windows.

They did not call to each other or make any other gesture of farewell. They only watched each other until the engine began to rumble and hiss. Then, with unnerving calm, the younger man reached for the silver case in his bag and tucked it into his front pocket. Gold made no move to respond, but as the train slowly began to move, he nodded to the boy in the compartment.

His eyes remained fixed on the train until it was out of sight. Then he turned around and left the station without a word to anyone.

Things changed after that day. Business slowed, though not to such a degree that placed the store in jeopardy. It was to be expected, with so many men gone to fight.

Gold found himself spending his time outside the shop alone. Where he had once been reserved, his disposition could now be considered taciturn at best. The day-to-day tedium of the shop that had always occupied him came to be no more than an unwelcome distraction from the matter suddenly on his mind at all times.

The only thing that gave him any joy was in watching the post. Gold guarded each letter from his son as a dragon would its hoard, and many was a night he sat up reading and re-reading the most recent piece of correspondence until the paper became soft and worn at the creases.

Bailey was not one to speak of his troubles unless pressed. His father scanned every line of his letters for any sign of distress, but found little. There were some hints here and there: the boy wrote of certain comrades regularly, only to suddenly stop mentioning them entirely; he wrote of the splendors of the cities and the countryside he passed through, but always in past tense, as if repeating what he had heard of them.

He wrote once that he missed the sights of the city he called home. Gold had spent hours poring over that line alone before taking pen and paper and recreating, as best he could, the various streets and storefronts of the town.

The letter he received after that was short but heartfelt, the boy repeating over and over how grateful he was to see home once more. Gold had downed half a bottle of whiskey that night and gone to sleep with the letter clutched in his fist.

For his own part, Gold did his best to be detached in his letters to save the boy worry. He wrote of the business and of how the people were getting along through the war. It was only at Bailey’s insistent questions in his letters that the man would write of himself, and only on the subject of his health.

Bailey wrote once to ask who his father was now spending his time with. Gold assumed an air of affronted dignity and replied that his company was the same as ever. Bailey did not ask again, but he continued to urge his father to make new acquaintances.

Through all this, life continued. People continued to come to the shop, and Gold began to feel the strain of running the place alone. His knee, injured years earlier during his own stint as soldier during the Great War, began to give him trouble.

One day, while taking a box from a high shelf in the storage room, Gold had felt a twinge in his knee just before his leg gave out entirely. Man and box tumbled to the floor together in a heap, and Gold was knocked unconscious. He woke on the floor hours later when an impatient customer rang the bell on the counter for attention.

Gold had grumbled at the inconvenience, finding it a mercy he hadn’t been robbed, and was quite willing to let the matter drop but for some nagging thought that Bailey mightn’t like it. He’d gone to the doctor for his knee. The man had given him a cane to use and told him he’d put such a strain on his leg that he risked permanently injuring himself if he didn’t find some way to reduce his workload.

It left him in a tight spot. The cane was bad enough. He couldn’t so much as walk down the street without drawing attention.  But now he would need someone to help him around the shop.

Only he didn’t want someone – he wanted Bailey.  Rather reluctantly Gold realized that he had held off on hiring anyone in the hope that his son would return to take his rightful place in the shop. But there was no knowing how long that would be. The war was dragging on and on.

So it was with a heavy heart that Gold put an advertisement in the local paper:

_Wanted – shop assistant. Must be strong enough to carry stock. High school diploma required. Inquire in person._

The man who had taken the ad, some reporter by the name of Glass or whatever, had warned him that he wasn’t likely to find an educated, able-bodied boy who hadn’t been shipped off already. But Gold had been adamant. Lack of muscle he could deal with; lack of brain he could not. He wanted someone with a head on their shoulders.

He’d received an answer the first day after the ad had run. George Marco was a soft-spoken man used to working with his hands. Unfortunately, he was even older than Gold.

The next to answer the ad was a man by the name of Leroy. It was the only name he would give to Gold. He’d stood around the shop, leering at the merchandise, his eyes bloodshot and his breath rank with whiskey. When Gold had asked about his education, Leroy’s only reply was to ask what it was to him. Gold had shown him out as politely as possible.

On and on it went, each prospect more unsuitable than the rest. The last straw was when a boy no older than ten came into the shop and asked after the job. He’d been there no longer than two minutes before a stern-looking woman with neat blonde hair and a shockingly red dress had come in after him. She’d dragged the boy out again, apologizing for the inconvenience.

As the door closed, Gold heard the boy protest, “But I want to know why everyone calls him the Beast!”

After that, he gave up. There was nothing to do, he decided, but close the shop and wait for Bailey to return. If he did, they could re-open the shop together. If not…

He didn’t want to think about it.

So it was that on one rainy afternoon as Gold was preparing the books to close the shop when something unexpected happened. He heard the bell above the door and glanced up to see a young woman crossing the threshold. She wore a charcoal gray suit and black pumps with a gray hat arranged jauntily on a bed of dark curls that had been bedewed by the rain outside.

Altogether, the effect was that of a confident, self-assured young woman. And Gold had no idea what to do with one of those.

Women came into the shop from time to time, usually to buy something for a husband or boyfriend. They didn’t always know what they were looking for, but Bailey had known how to deal with that. Gold wished rather that his son was there right now. It might help the rising sense of panic he felt in his stomach as he stared at the girl standing in his shop.

She must have felt his gaze, for she looked up suddenly and locked eyes with him. Even across the room he could see her eyes were the most striking shade of blue he’d ever seen. He just wished she’d turn them on something else in the room.

The woman tilted her head as if examining something curious. He gulped. Then, to his horror, she turned toward him and crossed the room in a swift, even stride. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to her legs, where the dark fabric of her skirt shifted ever so slightly with each step…

“Excuse me,” a low, lilting voice broke his thoughts. It had an unfamiliar accent, but there was warmth to it. “Are you Mr. Gold?” 

He looked up to find those bright blue eyes boring into his.

“Y-yes?” he stammered, cursing himself as he fumbled over his words like a love-struck teenager.

When she kept looking at him, he realized he was supposed to say something else. He roused himself by clearing his throat and drew himself up, resting his hands on his cane.

“Yes, I am. Can I help you?” Gold asked, proud that his voice was steady this time.

She smiled at him then, cherry-red lips parting to reveal rows of pearly white teeth.

“I believe you can. I’ve come about your ad,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment, not sure what she could have meant.

“You mean…you know someone who might be suitable for the position?” Gold asked. His brow furrowed as he spoke, and he could have sworn he saw the girl’s lips twitch.

“Yes, I believe I do,” she said brightly.

Gold waited for her to continue, but the girl said nothing. She merely went on watching him. After a moment, Gold shifted his grip on his cane and turned his head, his hair shifting ever so slightly as he did so. He kept meaning to have it cut.

“And…?” the man said pointedly, staring at the girl.

The young woman pressed her lips together as if trying not to laugh.

“I was referring to myself,” she said, her voice full of amusement.

“Oh.”

Gold glanced away from the girl’s face. This should have been horribly embarrassing. Instead, he felt almost like he did when he shared some joke with his son. He wondered why that was.

He looked back at the girl.

“My dear, you do realize this is a shop for men’s accessories?” Gold said as gently as possible.

The young woman was unfazed.

“I’d noticed,” she replied.

That left him at a loss.

“I don’t…that is to say, I’m not in the habit of taking on women for my staff,” Gold informed her.

That seemed to give her pause. Her eyes swept the room in a long, slow motion before turning back on him.

“You have other staff?” she asked lightly.

For some reason, he felt himself blush.

“No, but–”

“Are you saying you won’t hire me because I’m a woman?” she asked, more quickly than he was prepared for.

He gave a start, tightening the grip on his cane and meeting her gaze before he could stop himself.

“I’m not saying that at a–” he began, but she cut through him.

“Because the other thing I’d noticed, Mr. Gold, is that there aren’t a lot of young men left in this town with the qualifications you’re looking for. So if you want someone with brains as well as brawn enough to do the job, I should think you would be willing to alter your expectations,” she said, the smile on her face giving way to a look of determination.

They stared at each other, neither saying a word. After a moment, Gold pursed his lips and glanced toward the window before looking back at the girl as sharply as he could manage.

“You’ve graduated high school?” he asked. She wordlessly produced a piece of paper from her bag. It turned out to be her diploma. Gold took it from her and scanned it carefully.

Unable to find anything amiss, he handed it back to her and said, “You’ll be expected to move things around the shop. Can you manage it?”

She nodded.

“I’m stronger than I look,” she assured him.

He surveyed her. She was shorter than he was, even in heels, and he was no great man. But she wasn’t as thin as he’d seen some women, either. Realizing he was staring, Gold quickly looked back at her face.

“Some of the shelves are rather high,” he warned.

“I’ll find a ladder,” she replied.

“I’ll expect you here early,” Gold went on.

“I always was a morning person,” the young woman fired back.

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, not sure if he was being given cheek.

“You’ll be responsible for dusting and sweeping and keeping the shop in order. That includes washing the windows,” he added, throwing in one of his most hated chores.

“All in a day’s work,” she said calmly.

He was defeated. Gold sighed and closed his eyes. Then something occurred to him. He opened them again and looked at her very closely.

“And I’ll need to know your name,” he said, his voice low. He should have read it off her diploma. Why hadn’t he? It had been right in front of him.

With a smile so wide it threatened to split her face in two, the girl reached out to take one of his hands in her own, shaking it with a grip that was warm as it was firm.

“My name is Isabelle French, Mr. Gold,” she said in a happy rush. “But you can call me Belle.”

Gold stared, first at their hands and then at her smiling face. He should have been annoyed at her presumption, or at least shocked by how forward she was.

Instead he found himself gaping at a pair of bright eyes in the face of a pretty young woman and wondering whether he had been careful enough in shaving that morning.

Gold cleared his throat and gently pulled his hand away, but he could not help giving her hand a light squeeze before he broke the contact. He found himself rocking on his heels and stopped before he did anything as stupid as tripping over his feet in his own shop.

Averting his gaze to scrutinize a speck of dust on the floor, Gold took a moment to gather all the gravity he could muster.  He was not quite able to quell the sudden quickening of his heartbeat.

“Very well, then,” Gold said. He hesitated before adding, “Miss French.”


End file.
